Thirty-eight years ago, we said “I do”
I was shy, he was not. I liked the way he asked the girls that other boys avoided if they would like to dance.
I took decks of cards and books with me to these teen dances so that I would not sit there with that anxious look many of my friends would have as they waited for a boy to approach them. I had no idea that in actuality this was a “boy draw,” as they would curiously ask what I was playing. I was pretty sure they were not going to ask me to dance so I would answer, “Solitaire, a game played alone.” Slick, huh.
When the dance was nearing its end, the young men sitting at tables on the other side of the hall were busy talking and not dancing, ignoring the nervous looks being sent their way, it was I who was sent by the girls to tell the boys to dance, because you see, I didn’t care. They would obediently get up and for an hour the floor would be occupied by shuffling couples.
One evening, as I was telling the young men that time was a wasting, the young man who was adored by the less popular girls, asked me to dance. I found out his name was Adam. If I had been older, it might have mattered that he was my total opposite, but to a young teenager it meant nothing. And so began our years of growing up together. Five years later, in our early twenties, we got married. Those who bet that our marriage wouldn’t last half a year lost that bet.
Thirty- eight years, two children, two grandchildren, tears and laughter, and he can still make my eyes roll into the back of my head.
I love you Adam.